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Pace reaches for my face, his eyes filled with panic as he shouts my name. The last thing I think before oblivion takes me is that the Princess was right. Sometimes you have to rely on chaos.

It’s just better when you’re controlling it.

I feelweightless for a long while, drifting, heavy and sore.

I know there’s pain, but it’s too distant to worry about. Here, where everything is dark and quiet–where I can finally rest–I just allow the darkness to cradle me. I think of vacations and how nice it’d be to have one. No responsibilities. No jobs. No drills or exams. Me, on a beach, with some busty redhead. That sounds like a good time.

I’m clutching onto the thought of it as if I could conjure up a dream of my own making to get lost in when I hear familiar voices.

“... have to check him for a concussion,” Lex is saying, his voice low and grim. “What thefuckhappened out there?”

“I didn’t even see him coming,” Pace says, and through the fog, I feel fingers fluttering through my hair. Somehow, I know they’re his. “He was jonesing for a fight all night, but I thought Weller might–”

“Verne would never drop gloves,” Lex hisses.

With a growl, Pace snaps, “I fucking know! That’s why I wasn’t worried.”

“Why would he do this?” I can practically hear Lex pacing, and I know we’re all alone when he says, “Why now, when we’re finally making some headway with this Prince crap? Why does he have to be such a shit all the time?”

“Just my nature, I guess.” My eyes flutter open and I see them jump up, bracketing me, just like in bed. Pace on my left, Lex on my right. “How bad?” I ask, tasting blood. The lights pulse in my temples and I squint against them.

Lex looksfurious, his teeth gnashing out his words. “Bad enough. Congratu-fucking-lations, dickbag. You got what you wanted.” His latex gloves pull at my eyebrows when he lifts my eyelids wide, shining a pen light into my pupils. “The only thing you’ll be attending tonight is Pace’s funeral, seeing as how Father’s holdinghimresponsible for your behavior.”

I reach up to swat his hand away, but my whole abdomen explodes in agony. “That’s not what I wanted,” I groan, trying futilely to sit up.

Lex pushes my shoulder, slamming me back to the exam table. “Stay still!”

Pace is still wearing his pads, the twists in his hair plastered with sweat. “What the fuck, Wick?” He doesn’t look nearly as pissed as Lex, although I kind of wish he did. Right now, Pace is gazing down at me with such a confused look of betrayal that I feel it like a hook in my gut. What’s worse is the question he asks, filled with desperation. “Why?”

Swallowing, I blink heavily against the light Lex is shining into my eye. My nose feels like ground beef. “Mayfield.” It doesn’t make me feel much better to see the click of recognition in their eyes. “That was tonight’s job.”

Lex turns the penlight off, his face screwing up. “He was going to put you up for bid again? But you’re a Prince. You can’t fuck anyone–it’s against the coven–”

“They didn’t want me to be the product,” I say, coughing around something coppery-tasting. Holding Pace’s gaze, I explain, “They wanted me to escort Mrs. Moore as a bidder.”

Pace looks like he’s the one who just took a fist to the face, his expression plummeting. There’s a long moment where he just stares at me, throat bobbing like maybe he’s fighting the urge to vomit. “Why didn’t you tell us? If you had, I would have found a way to take you out of the game.”

Grimacing against the throb in my head, I say, “I wanted to keep you out of it. I swear, I did.”

“Jesus,” Lex whispers, and when I painfully haul my gaze to him, he’s three shades paler. “They wanted you to…?” He rubs a gloved palm over his face. “That’s beyond fucked up, even for Father.”

“I’ll go.” Pace says it like it’s simple. Just as simple as I’d known it’d be for them, accepting a punishment to rescue me from this. He pushes his hair back, and even though his eyes shutter with dread, he still nods. “I’ll take the punishment. Just–just promise me you’ll take care of Effie.”

Voice low, Lex cuts in, “Maybe I can take responsibility. The lashes don’t take long to heal, and you–”

“No,” Pace barks, pinning our brother with a hard look. “You’ve taken enough lashes for me. This is mine.”

But I squirm with the knowledge of how untrue that is. This ismine. I wanted–no,needed–it to be mine. As if I could wash away the guilt and humiliation of being ten years old again, up on that stage as those monsters eyed me like a piece of meat.

Father has never worked that way, though.

I squint up at Pace and grab his forearm. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t apologize,” he replies, expression softer than I’d like. My fingers lose their grip and I slump back, too tired to argue, welcoming the darkness as it swallows me.

“Oh my god.”

Her voice cuts through the thickness and I try to open my eyes. Try and fail. Shit. Did #99 bruise them shut?